


Forever and Ever, Amen

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [28]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 07, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having accomplished all that they came to do, the angels return to Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever and Ever, Amen

Bobby settled himself more comfortably on the lowered tailgate of his old truck and took a cautious sip of coffee. Steam rose in lazy spirals from the cup, curling around his face and filling his lungs with the rich brew’s heady aroma. “Mmmmm.” He sighed contentedly.

Dardiel had unexpectedly developed a taste for Kona coffee during her stay on Earth. She frequently popped off to Hawaii to indulge in her addiction, disdainfully dismissing Starbucks and their like as being totally inferior in quality. Unfailingly, she brought back some for her human hosts. The sight of her breezing in, cardboard carrier carefully balanced in her hand, became something they all looked forward to very much. Especially Bobby. Her spiels about subtle differences in molecular structures went mostly over his head, but his tastebuds definitely understood what she was saying. He soon found himself equally addicted to the Kona, and wryly acknowledged that he would never look at instant coffee in the same way again. 

“I’m going to miss that girl,” he murmured, and patted the generous bag of coffee beans nestled at his side, a parting gift from Dardiel. He had yet to decide if he was going to share the bounty with the boys. After all, Dean – and Sam by association – had their own damned angel. Let Castiel fetch their coffee.

Bobby’s eyes drifted skyward and he tipped his drink towards the heavens in a friendly salute. The sky was a strikingly beautiful blue, a colour that would probably send the besotted Dean into a paean of praise for his angel’s eyes. Not a cloud was in sight, and while the day was warm, it was not uncomfortably so. With any luck, the good weather would hold. He certainly hoped it would. The past few months had been difficult for large portions of the country. People had a lot to celebrate today. A lot to be thankful for. He had to give the angels credit, they had worked diligently to set everything to rights – not only in America, but on a worldwide scale. They had done their mission and their commander proud.

Approaching footsteps drew Bobby from his contemplation of the perfect coffee and the perfect Fourth of July morning. From the weight of the tread and the gangly length of the shadow, he knew it had to be Sam. And so he didn’t startle when the young hunter’s hand dropped to his shoulder. Instead, he just shifted himself over to make room for Sam to sit down, and pointed to the styrofoam cup Sam held in his other hand.

“Dardiel?” he said.

Sam nodded. “She just left, along with the last of the angels. She wanted to say goodbye to Dean, but... well...” He shrugged. “I never thought I’d see an angel turn that particular shade of red.”

“The lovebirds were at it again?”

“They’re still at it. She didn’t want to interrupt them.” Sam paused to take a sip of his coffee. “And I didn’t want to listen in. I heard more than enough of their antics last night. So... here I am.”

Bobby grunted in acknowledgement that here was a better place to be if Dean and Castiel were knocking boots, and they continued to drink their coffee as they listened to the twittering of birds and the silken rustle of a breeze passing through lush, green grass. Flowers of all shapes and sizes dotted the landscape, their heads bobbing in time to a tune only they knew, their scent vying with the coffee for the humans’ attention.

“Father Desmond called me the other day.” Bobby finally broke the companionable silence. “He asked if Cas and Dean had anything to do with the rash of miracles that’s been going round. Told me to tell Cas that he and Milly miss him dreadfully, and he’d better stop by for visit real soon.”

Sam drained the last few drops of his coffee and set the cup aside. “And?” he said, knowing there must be more. In their line of business, there always was.

“And he has a friend in the Diocese of Cheyenne. A parishioner is having problems with a poltergeist. A real nasty one by the sound of things. The family lives in – don’t laugh – Casper. Father Desmond wondered if you boys might be willing to help out.”

“I don’t see why not,” Sam said. “It’ll be good to get back on the road again – as long as I’m guaranteed a room to myself every night. Preferably one at the opposite end of the motel from Cas and Dean. I’ll talk it over with Dean later. Much later. But I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

“He will if his angel asks it of him, and that boy is mighty fond of the good Father. I’m pretty sure you’ll pack up and head straight for Wyoming. I just hope you hang around for the fireworks tonight. I tried to convince Dardiel to stay, Satael too. The garrisons done good. They deserved to share in a little celebrating. But she said they had to go. Stupid angels. They kinda grew on me. The place seems empty without ’em. And now you’re leaving too.”

“How ever will you occupy yourself without us, after having us underfoot for so long?” Sam teased. “You gonna miss us too, Bobby?”

“Balls!” Bobby exclaimed, looking, really looking, at the Grace-altered face of his dooryard. “I have a lawn! I’m going to need to buy a fucking lawnmower.”

  


~*~

  


Dean spread his legs wider as Castiel thrust harder; both man and angel teetering on the brink, eager and willing to take the fall. His body thrummed with pleasure and anticipation. His mind was devoid of any thought save for a single name, one he chanted over and over in tandem with each plunge of the angel's rigid member.

“Cas, Cas, Cas,” he moaned, the frantic beating of his heart harmonizing with the sharp slap of flesh against flesh. He was wet and open from their bout the previous evening, when they had finally tumbled into bed after a seemingly endless day. That coupling had been slow and tender, lazy goodnight kisses sweetly turning into something more. Dean had drifted off almost as soon as they achieved climax: Castiel still buried deep inside him, curved around his back like a second skin, kissing the nape of his neck over and over again. He had fallen asleep with a smile on his face, warm and sated, and wrapped securely in his lover's arms.

This time was nothing like the last.

They were hungry for each other, _starving_ for it.

“Dean!” Castiel cried, his face aglow with the kind of bliss few angels have ever had reason to know. He changed his angle slightly, and suddenly Dean was seeing stars – stars, and the shadow of giant wings, their darkness growing to fill every corner of the room, obscuring the tiny bursts of light. But then, like sunshine on morning dew, a web of stars began to glisten on the blackness, constellations created just for Dean, and meant for no other's eyes; the depths of Castiel's love made manifest, his very essence laid bare before the human he adored.

“Yes, Cas!” Dean panted, humbly accepting the gift and offering his heart and soul in return. “Yes, oh yes! Oh, now!”

The figurative glow on Castiel's face transformed into the literal glowing of his Grace. As inevitable as a final curtain, his hand came down to cover Dean's eyes, shielding him even as he blasted him into an orgasm so intense that Dean felt himself being blown apart: tiny Dean particles floating out to the edges of the universe, carried there by the force of Castiel's happy sigh.

For several heartbeats, neither moved, caught in the pure ecstasy of the moment. Then Castiel removed his hand from Dean's eyes, and slid his cock free, moving back to allow Dean to lower his legs. Dean stifled a groan as he settled himself more comfortably in their bed. Castiel stretched out at his side like a contented cat, his head propped up on one arm, his gaze soft and oh-so-very fond. 

“I wish I could see your face,” Dean whispered, a gentle hand reaching out to caress the angel's stubbled cheek. “I wish I could look into your beautiful eyes as you come deep inside of me.”

“There is a way,” Castiel said.

Dean withdrew his hand and turned away from Castiel's hopeful stare. With an angry rustle of sheets, he rose to sit on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “We've had this conversation before,” he muttered finally.

Leaden silence was his reply.

Dean sighed and stood, bare feet shuffling across the floor as he retrieved his scattered clothes, careful to not let his gaze stray towards the rumpled bed and the equally rumpled angel it contained.

But Castiel was not in the mood to be ignored. Not this time. As Dean looked up from buttoning his shirt, he found himself face to face with a naked, determined angel. As distracting as his nakedness was, Dean found himself unable to look away from his eyes.

“Why?” Castiel growled. “Why do you give me everything, yet deny me the one thing I most want to give to you?” 

“Cas...”

“I love you, Dean. Is my love not enough for you? Do you need me to have celestial powers to hold your love? Is it me you love, or what I can do for you?”

“No! God, Cas, no! You know that isn't true.”

“Then what is it, Dean? Explain it to me, please.”

Dean swallowed hard, trying desperately to find the words he needed to say. His eyes were wet, a single tear tracking its way down the curve of his cheek.

“Tell me, Dean,” Castiel gently prompted, fighting the urge to reach out and capture the telltale tear. Dean was clearly at the breaking point, and Castiel instinctively knew a touch could send him running, it being so much easier to run than confess. “Tell me,” he repeated, his voice the slightest whisper on the too silent air. 

And just like that the dam broke, Dean's anguish pouring over Castiel in a torrent of hurried words.

“I can't let you fall again, Cas. I just can't. We worked so hard to get you back your wings. Can't that be enough? Can't you be my angel? You can love me as an angel, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, hanging his head and staring at the floor. “I can love you as an angel. I've done little else but love you since we first met. I can continue to love you – I can make love with you. I will always be your angel, if that is what you wish.”

“But?” Dean said, tilting Castiel's face up with a trembling hand.

“But that is not what I wish,” Castiel admitted softly. “I want to fall. I have earned the right to choose my destiny, and that is what I want with all my heart. I want to be human. I want to belong to your world utterly and completely. I want to be with you and only you... always.”

“You don't know what you're saying,” Dean protested. “You don't know – ”

“I know you,” Castiel cried, suddenly surging forward and pressing Dean up against the wall. “I know every freckle on your body, the number of hairs upon your head. My hands have touched you everywhere, down to the subatomic level. I have bathed you in my Grace, held your dead heart in my hands and breathed it back to life. Don't tell me I don't know you or that I don't know what it's like to be human. I know all that humanity entails. I know all you are, all you have been, all that you will be. I know you inside out... And all I ask is that you let me discover new ways to love you. Let me love you as a man. Let me learn you from the outside in.”

“Cas...”

“Please, Dean?” Castiel begged. “Please... give me this. I don't want the barrier of my immortality standing between us. I want us to be equals. I want to feel your touch as you feel mine: each sensation sharp and clear and real. I want to be free of my brothers' omnipresent whispers in my ear, free from holding back for fear that I might shatter you with one ill timed angelic cry.”

“But... but there is so much good you can accomplish as an angel,” Dean argued weakly.

“There is much good I can accomplish as a man,” Cas replied.

And, really, what argument could Dean offer against that truth? He had seen it with his own eyes. Castiel was a good man: offering help and comfort where he could, content to walk the slow path with God's mortal children, making friends, fitting in, redefining himself as the situation required. Dean had borne witness to an angel embracing his humanity: learning to laugh, to love, to live... 

Chuck was right. Castiel was more than an angel. He was more than the sum of all the life lessons he had learned.

It wasn't a matter of asking. It was a matter of accepting the inevitable. 

But quiet acquiescence was not Dean Winchester's way. No matter how much he wanted the pretty future God himself had offered, the future Castiel so clearly desired, he would fight the terrifying consequences of that choice with every fibre of his being. If Cas became fully human, bad things could happen. He could fall victim to all the many ills humanity suffered: he could be injured, he could get sick, he could die... And that Dean would not stand idly by and allow. 

Castiel read the finality of Dean's decision in the tightening of his jaw. “It's all right, Dean.” he said. “I understand.” In the blink of an eye, he stood on the far side of the room, armoured again in his familiar suit and trench coat, his blue tie carelessly knotted and slightly askew. “I have to go,” he murmured. “I promised Satael I would deliver Crowley's remains to Heaven this morning. They will be safe there, in the holy vaults. Locked away for all eternity.”

Another time Dean might have made a joke about the absurdity of the King of Hell entering the Kingdom of Heaven. Another day... but not today. Not when Castiel couldn't quite meet his eye. Not when the angel's deep voice cracked on the word 'eternity'. 

A subtle shift in the air informed the hunter that Castiel had unfurled his wings and was about to take flight.

He thought of all the other times the angel had flown away, leaving him alone to face his inner demons; all the lonely times he had spent longing for Castiel's comforting presence at his side. He thought of never having to feel that way again. What if he didn't have to? What if...

“Wait,” he said.

Castiel's eyes lifted from Dean's feet to his face. No hope flared in their depths; no blame, no condemnation shaded the endless blue. He waited, and the world seemed to wait with him. Everyday morning sounds receded: the creak of the old house settling, a clock ticking in the hall, birds twittering outside an open window. Dean's footsteps as he crossed the floor and stood before his angel were the only sound that mattered in this moment.

“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “Okay. You win, Cas. You flap on up to Heaven and tell Chuck this is what you want – what _we_ want. But you tell him this too – or the deal’s off.” And Dean leaned in close to whisper in Castiel's ear, drowning the angel's protests with his moist breath and wet, persuasive tongue.

  


~*~

  


After Castiel took off, Dean grabbed a quick shower and then absentmindedly sifted through his duffle bag, looking for something clean enough to wear. Twice, he criss-crossed the buttons on his flannel shirt while he was doing it up, before tossing it to the floor in disgust. “It’s too warm to wear the damned thing anyway,” he grumbled to himself, and gave it a spiteful little kick as he headed for the bedroom door.

Downstairs, he discovered and nuked the cup of coffee he found waiting for him on the kitchen counter. He stood, then, staring blankly into space, the cup raised to his lips, but too lost in thought to drink from it. Doubt and panic swirled in his mind. Had he made a mistake? Was he doing the right thing? What if God said no? And what if He said yes? Around and around and around his mind went, ever circling the same questions, never drawing any nearer to an answer.

When Dean finally got around to taking a sip of coffee, he grimaced at how cold it had once again become. He drank it anyway, just because it gave him something to do. And then he simply stood there holding the empty cup, looking out the window, but not seeing what lay beyond the glass – or, rather, not seeing what wasn’t there. He blinked as his gaze eventually registered a distinct absence of angels. There were usually a dozen or more milling around, with endless questions about their daily tasks, and how to best deal with the humans they’d encounter. But, of course, the angels were no longer here. Having accomplished all that they came to do, they’d made their way back to Heaven.

Cas was in Heaven now too, possibly talking to God right this very minute.

The thought was almost enough to break Dean’s brain again, but he managed to shake off falling into another stupor. Narrowly. He desperately need to find something to occupy his mind. Leaning forward until his nose pressed against the cool glass, he scanned the yard, hoping for inspiration.

The angle was such that he almost missed seeing them, but eventually he spotted Sam and Bobby conversing out by Bobby’s old truck. Sam was waving his hands around in such broad gestures that he seemed to be in imminent danger of falling off the tailgate. Obviously he was engrossed in the telling of some tall tale – or maybe he was describing a hunt, and probably getting the details all wrong if so. In either case, this was just the distraction Dean needed. After tossing his cup in the trash, he ambled out the door, making his slow way towards Sam and Bobby, pretending he wasn’t in any great hurry to join them. Their heads turned as they heard him approach, and a smile as bright as the noonday sun lit Sam’s face. Dean felt an answering lightness lift his heart. 

Everything was going to be okay.

It had to be.

  


~*~

  


It was a long day.

Dean spent the greater portion of it pampering Baby: vacuuming every nook and cranny, fine-tuning the engine until she purred like a jungle cat, and lovingly buffing every inch of her until she gleamed. He no doubt would still have been happily polishing away had Sam not physically dragged him off as dusk fell, insisting that he had to eat something, damn it, and that he’d scrape Baby’s paint off if he kept at it much longer.

After a delicious supper of Bobby’s famous chili, most of which Dean had to force himself to choke down, Sam again took his arm and shepherded him back out the door.

“But, Cas – ” Dean protested.

“Cas will find you. He always does,” Bobby growled. “Get in the damned truck. Fireworks start in an hour, and I want to pick a good spot to see ‘em.”

  


~*~

  


It was close to midnight now, maybe even a little later. Dean had given up on keeping track of the time. It was what it was. 

Sam and Bobby had long since said goodnight and taken themselves off to their beds. Sam had paused to clasp his brother’s shoulder as he walked past.

“Human or angel, Dean,” he’d said. “It doesn’t matter. Cas is Cas. He’s family. A Winchester through and through.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean had replied, deeply touched by the love and acceptance that underlined the words. 

_Cas is Cas,_ he silently repeated now, clinging to the comfort this simple mantra offered. _We belong together – are stronger together. I love him as he loves me... unconditionally. Maybe when he gets back I should tell him that. He deserves to know. He deserves to hear it every day._

Dean glanced at the empty bottle of beer which rested on the table beside him, and considered getting up to get himself another. In the end, he decided he was too lazy to make the journey to the fridge. Instead, he sat quietly on the sofa, the ticking of a clock and his swirling thoughts his only company. The room was dark save for the constant flicker of the TV screen. The sound was muted. He had no idea what show he was watching – or not watching, to be more precise. Whatever it was, no doubt silence improved it.

Minutes turned to hours. Dean had almost managed to fall into a light doze when a sudden crackle of static erupted from the TV set. He bolted to his feet, his nose twitching as the scent of ozone filled the air. His heart hammered in his chest as his eyes darted around the room, searching for his angel. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, stepping out of the shadows.

“Cas!”

Dean crossed the distance separating them with such speed that Castiel barely had time to brace himself before the hunter was wrapping his arms around him. As it was, the force of the impact made the angel stagger slightly. A human would have been knocked flat on their ass – something Dean would have to remember in the future if – when! – _Oh, God!_

“What's the verdict?” Dean wet his lips nervously as he reluctantly set Castiel free. His eyes swept across the angel’s impassive face. “Did Chuck accept my counter offer?”

“My Father said, and I quote, that you are a manipulative bastard. A conniving son of a bitch. A shameless – ”

“In other words?” Dean interrupted, waving an impatient hand and cutting short the unflattering litany.

“In other words, yes. He agrees to your condition.”

“My insurance policy, you mean.”

“Semantics.” Castiel shrugged. “The point is, he will grant you this boon.”

“Yes!” Dean pumped his arm triumphantly. “So, how do we go about this? Where do we stash your Grace? It has to be someplace safe, but still easily accessible to us. Maybe we could – ”

“Dean...”

“I know, I know, you’ve waited long enough. You want to be human _now._ But we have to think this through, Cas. We have to – ”

“Dean! Stop babbling. It has already been decided. As God wills it, so shall it be. _You_ are the receptacle for my Grace.”

“Say I’m the what now?” Dean sputtered. 

“You are the receptacle for my Grace,” Castiel repeated patiently. “It will lie inert within you, but either of us may call upon it in times of need. The fount will never run dry, so long as we both shall live. And that, as my Father requested that I remind you, will be for a very, very long time. We have an eternity of love to look forward to, Dean. The best of Earth and Heaven. All you have to do is say yes.”

“And how the hell do we deposit your Grace inside of me?”

Castiel arched an eyebrow and smirked.

“Oh!” Dean squeaked. _“Oh...”_ He cleared his throat and blushed becomingly. “Well, you can't say Chuck doesn't have a sense of humour. Who'd have guessed it? God is a dirty old man! Dare I ask how we make a withdrawal?”

Castiel's hand slotted firmly into place upon his mark.

“Oh, Dean,” he said, the words ghosting their way across the hunter's smiling lips. “Oh, _Dean...”_

**Author's Note:**

> And so the journey finally ends. I have mixed emotions about this. The _Error!Verse_ has been such a huge part of my life... it's hard to let it go.
> 
> I would like to thank all the readers who persisted in following this story, despite the frustratingly long gaps between chapter postings. And special thanks to my beta [Cali_se](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cali_se/pseuds/Cali_se) who has been with me every step of the way.


End file.
